Rules Are Meant to Be Broken
by SineTimore
Summary: It's New Year's Eve and there are rules, so they say.


**A/N**: It's been a good while since I last posted a piece here so if you've stopped by after my absence, I certainly appreciate it. Here's to your 2013, Castle fans. May it be your best year yet.

* * *

It's not a dress. _No_. If an award existed for Understatement of the Millennium, the word "dress" would most certainly win in this situation, hands down.

The noise he makes is audible, he's sure of it, and that's truly what it is, a noise, not approaching anything coherent or constructive. In fact, if someone were to ask him his name at this moment, he might have trouble with the answer. That's how far from a dress it is.

"Hey," she states casually as though she's just opened the door to the pizza delivery man.

The ensuing pause is both awkward and appreciable.

"I'm…" he mumbles.

"Staring? Experiencing a stroke? Creeping me out?"

The nervous chuckle that elicits from him shifts his brain into gear – somewhat. "Well, I hope it's only two out of the three, though last I checked "creep" wasn't high on the list of terms of endearment."

He takes two steps through her doorway which affords him the opportunity to place a hand to her waist, more for his own balance than anything ulterior, and to place a kiss to her cheek, which she offers up gladly.

His long wool coat isn't buttoned and the glimpse that she gets at his tuxedo sends a slight blush to her cheeks. There are few things sexier than a man in a tuxedo – than _her_ man in a tuxedo. "You look great, Castle, very handsome. We should find reasons for you to wear that more often."

"No one within 100 miles of this party is even going to know I'm alive, let alone appreciate what I'm wearing, when they get one look at you, Kate. It's probably too late now, but I'll be calling science tomorrow to see if it can explain to me how it is that you continue to grow ever more beautiful."

The words of the author don't hold a candle to the words of the man. This, she is blessed to know for certain.

"Thank you, Castle, that's very sweet. Um, I need to go finish getting ready – _how she could improve upon what's currently in front of him, he'll never understand_ – There's wine in the fridge if you'd like."

"Oh, there's champagne in the back of the limo that I thought we might enjoy on the way over. It's expensive…and on Paula, so we should take full advantage."

"As you wish," she purrs before she turns and moves towards the bedroom to complete her transformation.

"I think I might embarrass you if I told you what I wish right now, Detective," he yells after her. Having now seen her form from the front _and_ the back, he's convinced that remaining alive until midnight might just be his greatest achievement yet. "That weapon you're wearing should come with protective gear for anyone who plans on being within any sort of relative proximity to it."

"Very funny, Castle," he hears faintly from beyond.

He paces anxiously about the living room though he isn't entirely certain why he suddenly feels like a teen before the prom. The click of her heels on the hardwood commands his attention as she approaches, now at least four inches taller and wearing a demure grin.

Now he knows why. It's her and she's his and he still can't believe it.

* * *

Their limo arrives at the Waldorf, two glasses of champagne, one lipstick reapplication and a list of rules for the evening later. Castle knows Paula quite well and the odds of this event being photog free are not in their favor. So, once again, they'll play the roles of author and muse, no hands and no mouths – rules one and two, the least desirable rules either can imagine given the dripping romanticism inherent in this night. As they walk arm in arm through the ballroom's ornate entry, she leans in close and whispers one final promise, "If you make it to midnight without breaking the two most important rules, I'll do nothing _but_ break them until you beg me to stop." He's most grateful that he decided to wear a watch.

It's quite an affair, the gathering of pretties that has assembled to toast to bigger and better, new and different. They've made a first loop of the room, drinks in hand, hors d'oeuvres napkins crinkled. He's managed to avoid being pulled into any lengthy and boring literary discussions, for which they both count themselves lucky. He's already checked his watch more times than he can remember. Now it's _9:37pm_, four minutes later than when last he looked. Time is cruel.

"You keep looking at your watch, Castle, and people are going to start getting suspicious. This _is_ a high alert evening in New York City, after all."

"Guess the city's lucky that you're here then, _Detective_, you know, just in case I get out of line. I'll admit that I'm sort of tempted because I'm dying to know where you'd be hiding your cuffs in that thing."

Paula's exuberant interruption rattles their intense eye contact and each breathes an internal sigh of relief, this exercise in restraint proving harder than anticipated. "Well, well, if it isn't my favorite mystery guy and his lady cop," she squeals, making it obvious that the bar has been a popular pit stop for her thus far. "Don't you two make quite the stunning couple?!"

"Paula, lovely to see you as well," Castle offers quietly, hoping to bring the conversation back down to an appropriate volume. "And, we're not a _couple_," to which he adds air quotes. "I mean, we're two people so I guess it's true in that sense but with no other implied connotation. Nope, just two adults out..." Beckett manages to catch his attention with her _Shut up, Castle, you're overdoing it_ face. He's familiar. He checks his watch, _9:58pm_. Really?

Against his better judgment, he allows Paula to drag him away from the table to schmooze. He knows that he should. He also knows that he doesn't want to. He's in a room with what likely amounts to nearly two hundred people and he only wants to see one, talk to one, schmooze with one.

Kate now sits alone at a table accompanied only by one other couple who looks as though they had the fight of the century before they walked in. He's going to pay for this somehow. He should pay for this. He has no idea what he was thinking dragging her here. If he had asked her really, really nicely, maybe with coffee, to dress up with him and go nowhere at all, she'd probably have said yes. Instead, he's here, in front of Mr. Young Author Trying To Steal His Job, talking about cover art…he thinks. He tuned the conversation out the second he caught a glimpse of her stand up and make her way over to the bar – god, wearing that piece of art. And, it's only, he looks down, _10:22pm_.

She spends a few moments waiting for her champagne and chatting with the wife of an author not nearly as talented as her own. Castle is her own now. The woman, Valentina, or some such name that oozes money, knows of Richard Castle, "of course," she insists.

"So, where is your delicious date, anyway? Off finding some new inspiration, perhaps?" she asks with a wink. She finds amusement in herself.

Beckett plays along and adds her own snicker, finding Valentina anything _but_ amusing. "Actually, I believe he went to find your husband to rub his most recent book sale figures in his face." She thanks the bartender for the drink and, unbeknownst to him, for arriving just in time. "If you'll excuse me, Valentina. Happy New Year."

Drink in hand, she turns for their table only to make it a few steps before encountering Paula, yet again. "Paula, hello again and thank you so much for having us tonight. This is a very beautiful party you've put together."

"Seriously, Detective, that's all you have to say? What's up with you and Rick?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. There's nothing up between Ri…uh, Castle and me."

"Oh, please, I may be tipsy but I'm not blind. He's been staring at you all night, not that I can blame him given that dress. It's been like, what, five years? What the hell's the problem?"

"There's no _problem_, Paula. We're friends and colleagues and…"

She's abruptly interrupted by Paula's "borrrrring" before she's left standing alone after what now feels like some sort of bizarre hit and run accident.

She makes it alive to their table, finally, this time its only tenant, miserable-fought-earlier couple having vacated. She spots Castle there, across the room, as he leans against a pillar and smiles at his partner in conversation. She doesn't much care who it is. All she sees is Castle in this room anyway.

He doesn't see her notice him, so she watches. She thinks. She remembers - this year of theirs and all that's happened, where they started and where they are now, how so many things have changed and so many have remained consistent. For five years, he's been here.

She's struck by his stature, his strength. She takes in every part of his body that she can see, the body that he's willingly put in harm's way for her on so many occasions, the body that now holds her at night to comfort and prepare her for what the next day may bring, the body that she wants to put her hands on, put her mouth on.

Now. Not later.

Her trip to him is far more cop-like than she intends, as she moves towards him in a swift, direct and focused manner. She arrives in the middle of a dialogue about Alexis and college and she feels somewhat guilty for dragging him away with a flimsy over the shoulder "I'm sorry" to his partner.

They head for the ballroom exit at a clip that he finds confusing and alarming given that she hasn't stopped to explain what's going on. He assumes that it's NYPD related because he's able to glance at his watch and it's only _10:53pm_. They can't possibly be leaving yet?

"Beckett? Kate? Wait a second. What's going on?" he asks as he follows her out of the hotel to Park Avenue.

"Castle, can you call the car, please?"

"Yeah, I'll…." He reaches for his phone and makes the call, understanding the apparent urgency. "Kate, did something happen? Do we need to go to the precinct or…?"

"It's nothing like that, Castle." Her tone is one of frustration and anxiousness but he just can't figure out what's happened.

"There's the car, Kate," he points as the driver pulls up to the curb, exiting to open the rear door for them.

"Oh, thank god," she whispers under her breath, though loud enough for him to hear. He doesn't ask.

They sit close but remain silent until the car pulls away. She's full of energy and he can feel it radiating off of her.

"Are you going to tell me what the hell's going on?"

His eyes are focused on her as she turns to face him.

"Castle," is all she manages to utter before taking his face in her hands and bringing her mouth to his. He is bewildered but her lips and her scent and her warm hands and the dress – he can't stop it, doesn't ever want to stop.

It's lips and tongues and slow and silent but for the occasional faint sounds of pleasure. From him? From her? Neither can tell.

He pulls back from her, finally, a need of oxygen more than anything else. This, he will speak with science about tomorrow as well. "So, um, I'm sure you have an explanation for what's happened over the past fifteen minutes. Before we get to that, though, I'd just like to point out that it's _you_ who's broken the most important rules on tonight's pre-midnight list, one and two." His grin is smug.

"Well, Castle," she explains as she grabs each side of her dress and begins to pull up slowly, "my watch doesn't really go with this ensemble."

His brain can't seem to form any worthy response as she brings her left knee over his thighs and straddles his lap.

She leans into him and guides her deliciously kiss-swollen lips to his ear with a whisper, "Now then, you mentioned something earlier about my hidden cuffs?"


End file.
